Twenty-Eight Dollars

It seems surreal nowadays
the way my old mind
loops all the way back
when I don't expect it.

I'm twelve and I'm standing
in my parent's small kitchen,
right at the far end
next to the brick fireplace,
where the green rotary phone
was on the counter,

and my father is just home
from working graveyard shift
at the oil refinery, his jacket
always smelled of gasoline,

and he's opening his lunch pail,
the green and pink Tupperware
salt and pepper shakers,
and one napkin, always unused,

and he's telling me he makes
twenty-eight dollars a day.
Was I asking for a new ball glove?

I just paid twenty-eight dollars
for a Western Omelet, hash browns,
sourdough toast, and coffee.

It must have been the cup.
A mini version of my father's.
The one with the rolled, smooth
edges against your lips.

Steven Vincent Horton has published five books of poetry (Amazon), his latest, As Long As I’m Here, 2025. His poems have appeared in The Honeycomb Press, Miserere, Lilomul, Bristol Noir, The Branches, Voices of Protest, The Lost Blonde, The Macrame Literary Journal, Canids, The Harmonic Verse, Slipstream, Prudence Dispatch, and Otherwise Engaged. He holds a Ph.D from the University of Washington, 1984. He lives on Whidbey Island, WA.